


Because the World Has Not Been Kind to Me

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Carry On Countdown 2018, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Baz works in a flower shop and the highlight of his day is when Simon comes in to buy a flower every day - until one day that seems to change.





	Because the World Has Not Been Kind to Me

Baz had always appreciated beautiful things. Growing up in a mansion, he had always looked for the aesthetic in everything. He had an eye for things that were glamorous, shone brightly. Things that expressed elegance with their existence only. Sparkling champagne glasses, his mother's velour dresses, grandiose chandeliers, soft red roses.

Simon Snow was anything but a soft red rose. He was about as elegant as a donkey on an ice rink. And yet – Baz couldn't stop looking at him. It was pure absurdity; Baz worked in a shop full of pretty flowers and the thing that shone most glamorously was a freckled blonde teenager.

He came in every day – and it was rare to have an every-day customer. He made Baz' heart flutter whenever he came in and told his stories. A purple tulip to match his best friends' hair. Some carnations for his boss Ebb at the hospital. A daffodil, that he just gave to a stranger at the bus station. A red rose (Baz hadn't asked about that one).

Baz hadn't realized how much light and warmth Simon brought to his life until one day Simon didn't come in. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

When he stepped into the flower shop a week later, he was drenched from the rain. There were dark clouds in his eyes.

Baz mustered a smile despite the chill that went up his spine.

“Good morning, how can I help you today?” he said his standard greeting because his mouth refused to function whenever he was faced with moles and those golden curls.

“Help?”  
Simon's lips twisted into a mirthless smile.

“I'm afraid you can't help me. But you could get me some flowers.”

“What did you have in mind?” Baz answered, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.  
“I don't care,” Simon leaned against the counter, staring into space. His tone was flat, cold. There was something about the way Simon's shoulders slumped forward in his eyes dropped closed that made Baz recoil from snapping a mean reply.

“Are you alright?” he said calmly. He leaned backwards when Simon put his hand on the counter.

“No,” he nearly hissed. “But I don't see how it's any of your business. You're my flower clerk, not my therapist.”

Baz took a small step and his back hit the wall. He bit his lip.

“I thought we were friends,” he answered, ice in his voice.

Simon's eyes turned glassy and when he looked at Baz this time, his brow was creased.

“I – I don't – We're not – _friends_.”

“Oh.”  
He pressed a palm against the wall. How foolish to think that Snow was going to give _him_ a flower one day.

“I can't be friends with the entire world, can I?” Simon whispered absent-mindedly. “I'm not friends with the mail man, or the janitor, or the nannies – and least of all with some college student in a flower shop.”  
Simon was staring at the counter when he said it.

“If that's how you see it, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, _Sir_.”

“At least that's what he always used to say. I didn't want to believe him,” he frowned. “But he – he must have been right. The world is not your friend.”

_Maybe not, but I always thought you could be the world's._

“Snow, did something happen?”  
Simon's eyes started shimmering.

“No, nothing happened,” he snapped, gripping the counter. A tear slipped out of his eye, rolled down his cheek and fell on the counter. Baz stared at the drop for a moment and thought about wiping it off with a cloth.

“You didn't come here for a week.”  
“The world doesn't revolve around this flower shop.”  
Baz turned pale at the thought – what could turn Simon Snow into a mean person?  
“Hey, did I miss something? Did some sort of freaky magical accident happen where we swapped personalities?”  
“Would be pretty lucky for you,” Simon barked.

Baz raised an eyebrow.  
“That's my line.”

He should throw Simon out. He should tell him off. But Simon's hands were trembling against the wood. Baz turned around and went into the back-room. He returned with a yellow rose.

“Here,” Baz said and held the flower out to him. Simon stared at it as though it was an alien artefact.  
“It's on the house,” Baz added. Then he flinched. “I – I mean – it's for you.”

“For me?”  
For a second there, Simon's voice turned soft again. He took it and gently laid his fingers around it. He softly caressed the blossom, still staring at it motionless. Then he crushed his fingers together and crumbled the blossom underneath them. Baz felt his heart drop to the floor.

“I've started to think,” he said, then paused,”maybe there is no use in being kind. The world...”

He kept staring at the crumbled flower in his fist.

“The world is gonna crush you anyway,” his voice broke away. He carried on with a whisper. “You can try and fight and smile but in the end you're gonna... crash... anyway. What's the point?”

Baz stepped closer, but the counter was still between them. He put his hand on Simon's fist.

“Who crushed you, Simon?” he asked softly.

Simon broke into a sob and his knees gave way underneath him. Baz' mind drew blank. It was like watching a flower wilt.

“I need flowers...” he whispered, even as he sank to the floor. “I'm sorry, Sir.”  
Baz quickly stepped around the counter. Simon drew his knees closer to his chest.

“I just wanted to get some flowers to put on a grave. I don't care which ones. I don't care what prize. I'd appreciate it.”

“Simon...”

Baz struggled not to reach out and touch him.

“I'd appreciate if you didn't ask any questions. Yes, those are fine. Thank you. Good-bye. Yes. Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow.”  
It sounded like he was reciting a script, only that he wasn't acting. Simon looked up at him. Clouds clearing up.  
“That's what I should have said. I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I just -”  
He tried to get to his feet, but he stayed weary.  
“Thank you for – the flower – I'm going to – go.”  
He held the remains of the flower in his palm like a small bird with a broken wing.

“Simon, wait -”

Baz grabbed his arm.  
“You're right,” Baz shook his head. “I'm not your friend. A friend would have been there for you.”

“It's not your -”  
“I don't care. I want to be there for you. Is that okay?”  
“O-okay.”  
“Come with me. I'm going to make you a cup of tea.”  
  
Baz took Simon's hand. The other was still holding on to the blossom. Baz was going to find a way to fix a broken flower. In his living room, on the sofa, over a cup of steaming tea, Baz was still holding Simon's hand. Outside, it was still raining, but for a moment, he thought he could see the sun flash in Simon's eyes.

 


End file.
